The Cafe Review

by Richard Taylor I want to see the wounds I’ve dealt and show the scars I wear. I would point out the faintest outline of a footprint on the

by Padma Thornlyre I lie alone. Sappho And thus, under a fat moon in February, the wheel turns, our failures at last not wrong- turns,

by Padma Thornlyre I am not so full of wine and elk medallions grilled rare that I forsake utterance. Lichens, too, have filled me up, near

by David Budbill Thoughts never twisty. Confucius, The Analects Grace Paley said once, in a hand written note to me, We write big,

by David Budbill Zen monks like it quiet. Kuang-shan Lao Tzu said, Beautiful words are not true. True words are not beautiful. I think

by David Budbill Poor Po Chü-i cursing his poetry karma while he brushes out another poem. He, the Taoist devotee, disciple of silence, seeking

by David Budbill Po Chü-i believed in idleness — we might call it “staring at the wall” — that waiting, listening for the words of the poem to

by Zara Raab In one corner, a chair; near the door, another, cover in mottled blue, twin beds like box cars jutting into the room, beds crisply

a teacher and writer, he works at Scarborough High School. He has published several books of poems, including To the Promised Land Grocery

is originally from northern New England. He received his M.F.A. from New York University and now teaches exceptional learners at a high school

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